You, Me, and a Mess of Things In-between
by missymoobelle
Summary: Her first instinct was to slam the nearest book into his skull and flee in the opposite direction, but maybe it was a good thing that she had decided to do something recreational that weekend. God knows Maka Albarn needed some fresh air, but wasn't a great white shark-boy with a thing for pigtails a little unnessessary?
1. Chapter 1

**Hello peasants! This will be my first official fanfic! :D *cue 10,000 balloons raining down and rave bass and lights***

**Well, I love Soul Eater, SoMa is my OTP for life, and I hope we can all fangirl as a beautiful comminuty of nerds. If you guys ship anyone else with Soul or Maka, you might want to keep a safe distance of 10 kilometers away from me. c: Just trying to ensure everyones general safety~**

**So this is in an AU, at a completely normal highschool in Death City, Nevada. It's as realistic as it gets. Their hair color is the only eccentricity. Oh anime, how you screw over logic is one of the things we so cherish deeply about you. **

**Me and my wonderful, sex-goddess, boogie-bear editor guest star in this too. Cause we're selfish whores and such. Bear with it please.**

**Hope you guys like fluff and crude humor. Cause I'm too much of a virgin to post a lemon. YET. Giggity.**

_Itallics are Maka's thoughts_

Normal type is...normal

"Quotations are either for emphasis or dialogue."

**Now please enjoy and recline with a bag of low-calorie peanutbutter filled pretzles and a Coke. Maybe review as well! I don't know. Don't patronize me. What? No. Yes. Okay maybe... Tickle Tacos. Benjamin Franklin. Weekday porn. Cuticles. Catroon Network sucks now. 46-_Stop reading this and start the chapter...peasant._**

* * *

_**This**__ is going nowhere,_ Maka chided herself.

This was the- what? Fourth try…or fifth? Regardless. For an innumerable amount of times, Maka has tried- and failed –to paint a decent portrait of herself for her Fundamental Visual Arts class's current at-home project. Which was due in say, two hours, give or take?

And just to add a perfectly sarcastic cherry on the figurative ice-cream sundae of her very, _very_, early day, her water color palate seemed to be running low on green. Or just running in general.

Hell- what wasn't running by now? Maka internally gave herself a scolding. Wasn't keeping her apartment a hygienic and academically promoting environment something she took pride in? Her once pristinely shining kitchenette was reduced to yet another practice canvas, painted haphazardly in old paintbrush water, and- _oh lovely_.

Some red coloring was already drying, and, for the most part, was caked on her table like mud on the back of well-worn soccer cleats.

_The sad part is_, Maka thought to herself, _that my tabletop is actually in better shape than my "masterpiece". Geez, I'm an honors student, not Picasso! Who needs to learn human body proportions and values of light when you could be studying something __**relevant**__ to a good career?_

She crumpled the empty Crayola watercolor container, having outlived its use, yet felt little comfort in doing so. Could her grade be at risk just because of her lack of artistic capabilities?

_Ugh… Freaking hell. How was** I** supposed to know you let each paint layer dry before you add another one on? Weren't the instructions were on the…_

Ah. The discarded Crayola box, currently bent into a jagged wad of frustrations. She could feel its smugness from across the room, an imaginary "Didn't bother to give me a look-over before you tossed me away like a used napkin, now did you?" stabbed Maka right through her stubborn pride.

Looking at the digital clock placed on the coffee table, she estimated she had enough time to call it a day with her…unmentionable protest against anything and everything representing beauty in art. _More like oatmeal smeared on a canvas,_ she mentally added, and decided to start dressing for school.

" 'Snot like it can come out much better than it has." Maka eased herself out of her flannel pajamas, tossing them carelessly into her hamper.

"-Put a pencil in my hand, and I can write you an eight page narrative essay. Give citations and a bibliography just for the hell of it. I'll complete an entire Calculus semester in half the time of a quarter, and pass with flying colors_, without_ any extra credit. But as soon as you hand me a paintbrush-"

She forcefully slammed her skirt drawer shut and grasped one of her old denim pairs tensely.

"-all that wonderful, exuberant knowledge is just as flakey as that damned paint on my _ever so recently_ waxed kitchen floor."

Some seams could be heard tearing in the next apartment, to her neighbor's confusion, while Maka sat with a_fhwump_ on her bed, and sighed peacefully, gathering another denim skirt from her row in a practiced calm.

_Ahh_. Talking to one's self is definitely one of nature's best stress relievers, and apparently tailors employers, as Maka recently discovered while assessing her torn apparel littered on the floor.

It's all going to sort out anyways. That's still art, right? It's not like Mrs. Marchetti grades on actual skill, something she doesn't seem to _have_-

…Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

She sighs, yet again. Much better, although she has a feeling she'll get whiplash from all of these bronchial expansion exercises.

Moving along with the subject at hand, _it's just art_. Not like anyone really takes it seriously, even the instructor is caught doodling idly on her grade book! Besides, she's one of those "highly esteemed educators" that grades based on effort given, and although Maka mentally repulsed at the moronic theory that one's passion outweighs their actual comprehension of a subject, she was forced to cooperate with these ridiculous grading methods. She'll just have to bite her sharp tongue when she's handed back her _A-plus work_. But hey, an A is an A, given by a blind eye or not, and Maka is expecting to see a spotless 4.5 on her Semester Report, along with some recommendation letters generously given by her favorite teachers for her preferred universities of choice. Is she honestly _that_ good?

Of course she is.

She smirked at her internal peace of mind.

She _is_ Maka Albarn, after all.

She walked purposefully out of her bedroom, slipped on an old-fashioned red Coca Cola sweatshirt, and sought out an apple, as well as her apartment keys and book bag. After grabbing a granny smith out of her centerpiece's basket, she slung her trusty canvas bag over her shoulder, slipped her steel-toed cowboy boots on (because those were the ones that could legitimately kick a head in, and came with spurs. Talk about _cool!_), and secured the front door.

It was then that Maka started her trek of four and a half blocks to Shibusen High, nicknamed Death Academy, was the- _and she means it_ -closest place to hell on earth. Tossing her apple lazily about, taking varied bites whenever she saw fit, Maka reasoned that her school would be the death of her, no pun intended.

~O~

Maka was right; she was definitely going to pass out from lack of oxygen to her brain from all of these sighs she's giving today.

After her thorough once-over, okay, _thrice_-over of her AP biology essay, she eased herself out of her seat, avoiding any of those terribly awkward chair squeaks at all costs, and dutifully walked to the front of her class to hand in her paper. The professor gave her no more than a calculative glint of his glasses and a few turns of his- insisting it was _real_ –screw, lodged in what appeared to be some sort of sick joke through his head, and silently accepted her essay. Maka then walked back to her designated seat, basking in the glory of finishing her assignment with time to spare.

Burning glares and murmured insults passed her like a fleeting autumn breeze; it wasn't like she was expecting them to pat her on the back in congratulations like some valiant returning war hero. Utter bullshit such as chivalry would not be tolerated in high school.

_That would break the universal asshole code,_ Maka reminded herself.

_One whom does excellent in their academics must immediately take the place of stubborn bubblegum on the back of one's shoe; you have to grate, pluck, and __**smear**__ that poor bastard across the pavement, so the other can console themselves and their pathetic pride, and can allow themselves to move on with their much less stellar and completely unprogressive lives_.

She scoffed at her own monologue in a humorless tone, which in turn actually intensified the spiteful glares across the classroom.

…_Whoops._

Yeah, that didn't help with her current situation at all. Hell, it's not like she could make it much worse than it already is. Douches could continue to be douches in their douche-y ignorance, while Maka, however, had a novel to get back to.

Maka was quite content with this continual pattern of her life; wake up, walk off with her breakfast to school, kick some major academic ass, and try to hang out with the select few she deemed worthy enough to, because at least their IQ was higher than their shoe size.

"-OOIII! THE NERD WITH THE BOOK GLUED TO HER FACE! DO A GREAT HONOR TO YOUR GOD AND TELL HIM THE TIME! LUNCH HAS TO ARRIVE SOON, FOR MY MASCULINE STOMACH NEEDS TO HAVE ITS EQUALLY MANLY MEAL AT ONCE!"

…Well, there's always that one exception, specifically that exception that disregarded the peaceful environment the class so desperately needed to complete an essay on time, as well as his own essay's completion at that. But being her big brother figure since the first grade got you a certain special place in Maka's surprisingly big heart-

"OOIII!? BOOK WORM! TILT THAT SCRAWNY NECK OF YOURS AND LOOK AT YOUR DAMNED WATCH ALREADY!"

-As well as her fist, which was currently clenched in silent rage and hurdling at you before you knew it.

Black*Star's screams of pain were drowned out by the lunch bell, ironically, and the rest of the students shared a mutual groan of despair and hunger; none but Maka had turned in the professor's surprise essay. Like zombie's to a terrified teenager in her undies, they arose from their desks and trudged to lunch to eat away their sorrows while three others stayed behind; one of them out cold, the other two conversing familiarly.

"Wow, Maka-chan. Were you too impatient to chop him this time?"

"Yeah, that and I don't want to knock some sense in that 'god'-damned brain of his with this beauty…" She caressed her two inch novel with a tenderness Black*Star would never know of.

Tsubaki quietly gave into a fit of soft laughter, muffled by a polite hand over her lips. The Japanese beauty was as kind-hearted as she was physically appealing, and although once the envy of a…ahem, _lacking_ Maka, her compassionate nature eventually won her over, and she and Maka had in fact become very close friends.

That loud mouthed blueberry, however, was the total opposite of recently mentioned onyx-haired maiden. A bright blue crop, gelled in his signature star (yes_, star_), short tempered and in short stature, this high and mighty monkey needed to be knocked down a few pegs if you asked Maka. A girl could only handle so much ego for ten years before she just ended up biting someone's head off, preferably some so called _god_ late for his lunch.

~O~

As they made their way from the lunch line to their designated table (courtesy of Black*Star, taking the time to paint a five-pointed star around the table's perimeter, the janitors not finding his little proclamation of "god-like status _only_" amusing in the least), they noticed their new found comrades, Mia and Carmen, already immersed in one of their less-than-publically-appropriate conversations, their lunches forgotten.

"-So," Carmen resumed, "I told Killik to tell him that I was a lesbian."

Mia cringed, as did everybody else, as she tried desperately not to let inevitable bouts of laughter ring throughout the cafeteria.

"Jesus fucking Christ Carmen, seriously?"

"What? He was being a fuckin' creeper! I talk to him for two fucking seconds, and now he thinks his name is sewn on the back of my panties."

"And you couldn't have just told him to fuck off? It's really not that hard, dude."

"Knowing him, he probably would've _still _tried to get in my pants."

"Pffft, girl, I think we both know he runs outta lotion every night. Can't handle that sexual aura you're emitting."

"Bro-bro, we _know_ we be sexual~"

"You guys." Maka reeled in the conversation before they got too carried away. Really, two ladies shouldn't be talking about such lewd topics so carelessly! She could only imagine the utter and complete humiliation she would be vexed with if her friends caught her speaking of such…_atrocities._

"It's only Wednesday and you're still as wired as horndogs this early in the week?" She sipped uninterestedly from her chocolate milk carton.

Mia almost had an aneurism, and practically gave herself whiplash when she turned right towards Carmen. "Holy shit Maka, you're right! Carmen! HOW THE FUCK COULD I FORGET?!"

"What?"

"Today's _Sexual Wednesday!_"

"-Fuckin' KNEW IT! Mia! Take your jacket off; you won't need it _today._"

"Oh, I think we all know what's gonna be goin' down today, bruh."

It was then did they both notice the rest of the gang seated at the table, and actually proceeded to initiate normal conversation with them. Maka internally deflated.

_It certainly took them long enough._

Her pigtails gently swayed as she turned to look at the dastardly duo, and she internally shook her head. How could such opposites handle being around each other as if old war chums? Carmen always has had pristine grades and a school record as clean as they come, while Mia's academics and behavioral record lacked the spotless shine hers possessed. But like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, their contrasting backgrounds only complimented each other and brought them closer together, as well as their vocabulary, equivalent to that of a sailor's.

And just when Maka thought their lunch's excitement had finally fizzled out, Black*Star made sure to re-ignite the fire of idiocy.

"SEXUAL WEDNESDAY?" He jumped onto the table, practically straddling his chicken strips. "HOW WAS I NOT NOTIFIED OF THIS MONUMENTOUS EVENT?! TSUBAKI! TAKE YOUR SHIRT OFF! YOU WON'T BE NEEDING IT EITHER-_"_

"MAKA-CHOP!"

"_YEEOW!_"

-Aaaaaand _there's_ the daily dose of "vitamin Maka-chop" Black*Star needed for the day, kiddies. Maka thought she forgot something important.

"You IDIOT! You're in school- don't degrade your _girlfriend_ to your level of retardation."

Black*Star stared daggers at the twin tailed she-demon, whom was innocently nibbling on her ham sandwich while Tsubaki busied herself in caressing her partner's injured head, mumbling sweet apologies into his all but eager, attention-whoring ear. Maka shook her head at the entire scene.

_That was probably his original intention, to practically lie in Tsubaki's lap by such dirty methods. That sly little-_

"So Maka!" Mia began, "Got any plans for the weekend?"

Maka settled down, now distracted from her inner tirade, and took a thoughtful bite out of her second apple of the day. No, in fact, she didn't. She hasn't for a while, actually. Not since last Labor Day, when Black*Star accidentally lit the junkyard on fire with his homemade fireworks, whereas Mia and Carmen only had a good laugh and brought out a package of marshmallows to roast, Maka was left to call the fire department. At least all of the waste burned, and left ample room for more drop-offs, Maka humored.

"…Other than studying some upcoming exams (Maka chose to ignore the simultaneous eye-rolls across the table) then no. Did you and Carmen want to-"

"-Go to Barnes & Noble Sunday and bring your laptop to lie around like a bunch of lazy assholes all day and blog?" Carmen quickly finished for her, smiling in wait.

"Wow Carmen, stealthy. I certainly can't hide anything from you, now can I?"

_But really now. A fellow honors student shouldn't be practicing unhealthy habits such as procrastination. What ever happened to the common belief of self-sacrifice towards a good grade? Oh, how the mighty have fallen._

But Maka smiled beside herself, her will to feign disappointment quickly vanishing. _Well, no use fighting a losing battle, right? _She took a quick look at the two's eager expressions, hoping their little prude would un-tuck her collared shirt just this once. It's the weekend, after all._ And sure, they're bozos, but they're __**my**__ bozos. I've always had the most fun when I'm around them; at least they make an interesting story to bring up during a boring conversation._

Even _Maka_ of all people needed to kick off her combat boots once in a while.

"You got me- I'll go." She raised her hands in mock defeat. "But you two better be there at eight o'clock sharp, or the Grand Canyon will have twin sisters embedded in your skulls to accompany it by the end of the day."

Two robust "aye-aye's!" followed right afterwards.

The two girls slapped each other high fives before Carmen turned to glance deviously at Maka.

"Maybe we'll get lucky and that sexy beast'll be sorting the romance novels again." Carmen waggled her eyebrows while Mia let out a chuckle beside her.

Maka chuckled in good humor. "You both know I don't have time for any 'romancing.' Keeping up with my AP courses is my top priority right now."

Mia stared at the poor girl in disbelief. "Seriously, Maka? You know cheap porn and fictional characters can only work for so long, right?"

Regretfully, Maka knew this to be true. She was never one for a healthy social life, a few great reads keeping her more company than any chitty-chatty peer ever could. _And they probably hold more knowledge in their indexes than any of my idiots ever could hope to have, _she tiredly reminded herself. She had to bite her tongue at the mention of the "unmentionables", however. Maka was a young lady, after all, and she didn't partake in the use of vulgar language and… ahem…_lustful_ practices. Any and every person of the opposite gender who wasn't an annoying blueberry, specifically that of a star shaped variety, was of no particular interest to her. With her educational endeavors and habitual blogging of funny cat GIF's and anime references, what else could she ask for?

"So Maka-chan," Tsubaki politely changed the awkward subject, "Black*Star is taking me to that new Japanese restaurant down the street from here. Kobe, I think, is what it's called."

Her face blushed a pretty rose, and Maka couldn't find it in her heart to kill the moment. After all, what does one expect a _boyfriend_ to do anyways? She couldn't even imagine what Tsubaki's reaction to something as intimate as proposing marriage would be like; she might literally die happy.

"Is that so? Well, at least he had enough sense in his two brain cells to treat you to somewhere that ties within our culture."

She threw away her lunch, her appetite sated for the time being, but she had to admit to herself that it was a smooth move on Black*Star's behalf to take Tsubaki to something that reminded her of home, with her and Maka taking quite a bit of pride in their exotic heritage. The two even conversed in Japanese when left alone, which was a common occurrence often enough. It always felt a bit more natural to speak with their first language anyways; a comfort, a familiarity to cling to and enjoy in their foreign environment.

"-Well, aren't ya?"

Maka was momentarily halted, again, from her self-ramblings, trying to catch up with the conversation she dozed away from. Black*Star waited impatiently.

"…Huh?"

"Didn't your bookworm brain process your god's absolute orders?"

He took to waving his chicken strips as some sort of wand, exaggerating the importance of his previous inquiry to said bookworm.

"You and your hermit self are going with us to the restaurant for lunch on Saturday. Tsu' wanted you to taste the chow there, since you both come from China-ville."

"_Japan._" Mia and Carmen instantly corrected.

"Korea, Singapore, Easter Island, _same difference_. 'Sides, it's not like you have anything to do, bein' a total nerd on the weekends."

"…"

Maka swears, if it wasn't for the authentic Japanese cuisine, it was to save her best friend from being embarrassed from Star's chopstick-walrus imitation, because she was just that good of a person. She swears it.

"So…even though inviting me totally makes the term 'date' lose its meaning, it's at noon, correct?"

Tsubaki bashfully nodded. "Yes. I would really appreciate it if you came, Maka-chan!"

Maka kicked her bag under the table carelessly, her attempt of an art class project clunking about from her steeled toe boots. Hey, she needed a break, especially after the disappointment of her first failure of the year. She figured a fun-filled weekend might just be what the doctor ordered.

"TO HELL WITH THAT! WE'LL GAG AND BIND HER IN MY TRUNK IF NECESSARY-"

_Whoops. There went her confidence in her friends._

"-SO SAYS BLACK*STAR, THE MAN WHO WILL SURPASS- _AGH!_"

His girlfriend took it upon herself to stab his abdomen with her fork, contradicting her appeasing smile, and twist the utensil for effect.

_Oh hey,_ _it's back again._

Carmen and Mia gave a blind eye to the blue monkey's groans of pain, more interested in discussing if potato chips and french-fries were in fact distant cousins or twice removed in-laws. Tsubaki busied herself in cleaning off what Maka presumed to be blood from her fork, while Black*Star clutched his stomach in either agony from recent silverware battle wounds, or his terrible appetite of that which rivaled a black hole's.

Whether she admitted it or not, Maka certainly loved days like these.

"And look at it this way!" Mia stated. "Now, you won't be such a lonely cat-lady this weekend!"

…_cat-lady?_

"True, true!" Carmen added on. "Now we can focus on those nicknames Mia and I have been brainstorming for you!"

…_nick-**whats**?_

Maka felt an ominous chill as she swallowed the lump in her throat, choking in the process. Just what did her 'companions' have in store for her?

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**Did you finish your pretzels? Or diss Cartoon Network and its new faggy shows? Good. Now review! . 3 .**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hellooooo again loyal viewers! My editor ludaglava and I have practically KILLED eachother over making this chapter. Her mom almost skinned her alive for her final edit of this~ xD So, do her a favor and read&review, mkay? **

**Same font rules as chapter one stated, itallics are thoughts, yadda yadda.**

**Soul: 18 yrs old**

**Maka: just turned 17**

**any others: who gives a fuck**

**Enjoy~!**

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Blood-shot red.

His eyes were blood-shot red, Maka noticed; a molten ruby, crackling in a passionate blaze, totally off-putting to the sleepy, half-lidded gaze they flickered from. Flaming eyes underneath such a cool exterior belonged to none other than Soul "Eater" Evans, _the_ "hottest" and most available bachelor at her high school, who was currently sitting in front of Maka, at their booth in Kobe.

Now, just how did we get here at this wacky situation? Well, previously in this episode, Maka had just stepped into the restaurant with Tsubaki and Black*Star in tow. She felt pretty good, in all honesty; nice food, close friends (and a blue monkey), and her favorite combat boots clunking on the expensive tile. It was a pretty good day so far.

However, whatever was left of her composure had crumbled to her feet and rolled out the door without so much as two fucks when she saw her- _take a deep breath Maka!_- date.

To help you fine audience members keep up, Soul is practically a demi-god among mere mortals such at Shibusen High. Being a smooth talker, self-enthusiast, and hardworking slacker, Soul's demeanor annoyed and repelled Maka all at once.

"Bro-han!" Black*Star greeted Soul, "What's goin' on?"

"Not a lot, man." His slight Italian accent reverberated throughout Maka's ears.

"Yeah, sorry we took a century. We had a little unwanted cargo taggin' along- URG!"

Tsubaki's knee kick was given a blind eye, as she continued for her boyfriend shortly after. Soul and Maka both swallowed anxiously.

"What he _meant _to say, Soul-kun, was that we brought along our good friend Maka-chan to keep you company! We didn't feel comfortable with you eating all by yourself." She smiled sweetly afterwards.

"Is that so?" Soul leisurely replied. After a quick once over of the pigtails previously mentioned, he smirked devilishly, displaying his sharp grin.

"I thought I told you I quit that babysitting job, Black*Star. Whatever, bring miss tiny-tits with ya. I'm starving, and your slow asses aren't making it any better." And from there he thus walked to a window booth across the premises, as if he had not a care in the world after insulting a seriously aggravated Maka.

While Black*Star and Tsubaki awkwardly brushed off this one-sided spat, Maka busied herself with trying not to combust on sight out of the mortal humiliation and intense hatred she was bestowed with by no more than two sentences uttered by that arrogant, leather-dawning bastard.

~O~

So now that we're all on the same page and the dust of the previous battle has settled down some, we can now find that all four date participants are sitting at the window booth; two of them happily chattering , the other two in a heavy silence.

Okay, so maybe she was over-reacting a _little_. But really, when you're lead blindly into the most completely awkward and embarrassing double date with the school's finest Italian bad-boy slash bachelor like a lamb to slaughter, who wouldn't be having a major mental rearrangement? Maka honestly felt like SpongeBob trying to futilely remember his own name after his intense waiter training; miniature Makas were running to and fro in the personification of her mind, burning one file cabinet as another was simultaneously being restocked with new information.

Did their waiter just leave? So he did- wait. Did she even order? Backtrack, Maka. Maybe that distant memory of a feminine voice, something pertaining to teriyaki chicken, and quick pen scratches on a notepad was it. Ah, she thinks- oh no. Did Tsubaki just ask her something? First, Maka needed to find her voice. Where was it again? Baby steps Maka, come on! ~The voice box is connected to the~ …larynx? No, no, it was the bronchial tube…or not? AGH! Was there going to be miso soup appetizer already? Which side of the bowl does she put the spoon on anyways? Should she fold her napkin, or recite the traditional "_Itadakimasu_"? Was that considered unnecessary in America? Wait, she's been living here for like, ten years. Why would she wonder about things like these? Is there some kind of imaginary audience that's snickering at her inner rampaging, enjoying her misery with some low-sodium snacks and reasonably priced beverages? God, she hopes not.

It was an organized chaos.

A structured meltdown.

The ultimate undoing of her calm façade and practiced indifference.

Maka was being forced to _socialize_.

~O~

Soul, at first, was absolutely sure that this date was going to be a gyp. Sure, his good buddy Black*Star had reassured him that "his god will ensure him the most spectacular dating experience of his poor, mortal life", but let's face some facts: Star still locked his doors and stuffed his chimney every Christmas because he was sure that a pedophiliac Santa would defile his pure and utterly gorgeous holy body. His word was about as twisted as a jumbo movie pretzel.

So, you could only imagine the surprise Soul received when instead of meeting a redheaded bombshell with three inch pumps and a bowling-alley worthy rack, he came chin-to-hairline with a tiny, pig-tailed girl, and the largest green eyes he's ever seen, which were slightly tilted upon further inspection, which led him to believe her to be of some sort of Asian descent. It was the bookworm he'd taken a particular interest to at school a couple months ago, he having scored higher than her, the _honors student_, last spring, and distinctly remembering the passionate gleam in her eye, while speaking her first direct, yet foreboding words to him on date: "Next time, study harder. I want to feel accomplished when I beat you."

Ever since then, he's been eyeing the nerd-ette like a fat man to strawberry cheesecake. _Okay,_ his figurative language skills could be a little more polished, lest he say something as sickening as that when he finally gets the chance to speak to her again. Which he hoped was soon, no other woman _he_ ever met could roast s'mores on their glares alone.

Yet here she was, combat boots and all. Soul had to admit, he liked seeing her eyes when they weren't alight with competitive hostility; they seemed glassy, like a wine bottle, glazed with well-applied age.

She wore a lavender knitted sweater, off the shoulder-not because of intentional fashion keenness, but because of repeated use and years of appreciated warmth. Pigtails weren't necessarily _in_, but she wore them faithfully, and Soul had to say she kind of made it her own. Clunky, steel-toed boots were not exactly chic either, never being openly sold in frou-frou, strip mall outlets like other brands, he noted. But they looked like they could kick a head in pretty well…

Soul smirked. _Cool._

He decided that he liked her, eccentricities and all. She was honest without meaning to be, open like the books she carried faithfully with her in her ratted canvas bag. She wasn't exotic, or sexy; nothing to compare with voluptuous amazons such as his bro's woman, Tsubaki. In fact, she couldn't be more than a cup size of 34B, 36 tops. However, her peridot eyes were earnest yet sharp, and he had the feeling her small smile would be one that would make him want to (literally) sharply smile back, even though they always came out as crooked smirks, much to his parent's chagrin.

_Doesn't matter_, he thought. _Judging by the way she buys foot apparel at a Marine Base, she probably doesn't give a shit about perfect appearances._

Oh Soul. Maka rivals the infamous _honey badger_ in the art of not giving two shits.

Well, except for when he noticed her a few moments later, finally aware of his presence and appearing to be having a silent fit of an anxiety attack, _poorly hidden_ he noted, and possibly one of the most endearing things he's ever seen. Normally, his dates are ecstatic to meet him, not squirming in some sort of apprehensive pee-pee dance. And did she just squeak?

God dammit. That kind of utter cuteness made him want to hug her worries away and wrap her in a fluffy, sports-ball decorated Snuggie. He quickly shook his head, but passed it off as readjusting his purposely unkempt hair. Fruity thoughts such as that will not be tolerated in Soul's totally un-fruity mind. Cool guys think cooler things, and act them out in ice-cold actions.

He flashed her his signature sharp-toothed smirk, but instead of the immediate "scream and run the opposite direction" combination or overly-dramatic swoon he was expecting, he was met with her smoldering (in the **bad** sense) glare, and for once, was at a complete loss for words. What was she glaring at him for? Even if they were both in an incredibly awkward situation, it couldn't have been that bad to find out _he _was her date. The only thing she knew about him was that he was fairly smart! Didn't anyone teach this girl that jealousy was a major turn-off? As in, you're so green with it that you make _other _people feel sea-sick? Well, if she was going to pull the "annoying brat" card, then he could too.

"I thought I told you I quit that babysitting job, Black*Star." He smirked at the indignant gasp of said she-dork, and continued on in the musical and lazy drawl that all Italians possessed, the low timbers of his voice almost making the wine glasses on nearby tables hum in appreciation.

"Whatever, bring miss tiny-tits with ya. I'm starving, and your slow asses aren't making it any better."

~O~

Her eyes now flamed like glinting emeralds, an unknown passion flickering across the restaurant, and Soul figured he liked her sudden burst of heated awareness. Women with spunk and mile long legs were more his taste anyways, and little missy over here had both in a _plentiful_ stock. Thank God he chose the window seat; he got a perfect view of her skirt bunching up in the most unintentionally perverse way as she sat down to sit right across from him. He, admittedly, was more of a leg man than a breast one, but he still couldn't help picking on her late bloomers. She just made the most _awesome _faces.

Of course, she was now pissed, having him blatantly insult her boobs, he acting like the arrogant asshole he knew he was, and sneaking a curious peek up her fluffy white skirt. Maka of course missed this last detail, more preoccupied with remembering to crucify her date planners on a wooden cross.

Soul entertained the idea of actually pursuing the fiery maiden, which in all respects was near impossible. Soul's actually got a _life_ he wants to live, not one where he spends his weekends studying just for the hell of it, or watching nature documentaries about endangered butterflies because his "girlfriend" thinks that "just because school has paused, their learning shouldn't." Maybe if there's a totally badass one airing, like Steve Irwin mud-wrestling a saltwater crocodile for a fresh antelope carcass, sure. But when it comes down to it, no amount of fine leg and mini skirt will drag Soul Evans down from the totally chill bachelor high-life he was currently enjoying.

Maka fidgeted in her seat, making her skirt rise up by just a hair, and Soul could barely make out the pink, lace trim of her boy-short panties. Soul swallowed down a dry lump in his throat.

Okay, so maybe a little leg was alright.

His point still stands though! He admired big brains, and a mouth just as quick, but they weren't exactly the traits of choice to spur any kind of sustainable romance.

_Ever wonder why Einstein didn't have a girlfriend? Well he probably scared off any female away with his weird mustache. That or he didn't bathe. Gross old fuck._

…Putting Soul's slaughter of historical mathematicians aside, he skimmed through the menu with little interest, trying to distract himself from thoughts of a bookworm giving a wrinkly Einstein an orange sponge bath, only pausing to gape and drool happily at the raw fish section. So maybe his whole day wasn't going to suck major ass as much as he thought it would.

~O~

As their orders arrived at their booth, Black*Star had to bite his lip to hold back Niagara Falls from sweeping away their much awaited plates of Tepanyaki. Tsubaki giggled fondly at his child-like excitement and broke apart her chopsticks, already eyeing her fresh lobster.

Maka and Soul, however, found themselves to be in much less of high spirits.

Alright, _Maka_ found herself to be in less than high spirits, while Soul merely cried at the assortment of sushi their waiter set down in front of him. Sweet baby Jesus, he's in cold-cut, seaweed wrapped _heaven_.

It was when he took notice of Maka scrunching her nose in distaste, that he followed the figurative dots connecting her eyes to his seafood paradise on a plate.

"Err…"

Maka zapped out of her trance, and acknowledged his confusion with a tilt of her head. "What?"

"Do you and my sushi need to take this outside?"

"Huh?"

"Cause, I won't allow it. Do you know how fucking long I've been waiting for this lunch? If you were a tuna in a past life or something, I suggest you get over it quick."

Okay, this guy's smart-assery is starting to grate on Maka's nerves. _And no matter how many times he tries to cover it up with his charming- no! Annoying, ANNOYING smirk, a Webster's Dictionary and a certain someone's skull are going to experience atomic fusion by the end of this meal._

"I'll have you know that seafood just makes me feel ill. I don't know how you can stand it; any raw meat puts a bad taste in my mouth."

"You're freaking insane! Raw fish is the best, and it's even good for your skin…" He ended on an interpretive note. Maka took in a small breath, finding the hidden insult.

"Hey- MY skin is perfectly clear! I use Neutrogena every- ah!" Maka reddened on spot; she had just obliviously revealed her private skin care information, which Soul found to be extremely amusing.

"Ahh, looks like someone used to have a pepperoni problem, huh?"

"What are you talking about?" Damn, pride was hard to pick up off of the floor. "I…just…oh whatever! Like you don't do the same thing."

"I'll have you know that _this_ olive tone is all natural and zit-free, cupcake."

"And I suppose your bear-trap of a jaw is as well?"

"Oi! My teeth are none of your goddamn business."

"Can you even compose a sentence without the use of barbarian terminology every other word?"

"Can you possibly shove up that ten foot pole stuck up your ass even higher?"

"God, you pompous ass!"

"Oho! Bringing out the big guns, are we?"

"Well, I can't be too sure your brain capacity can handle vocabulary at your grade level."

"Pardon me, but are we forgetting who scored _higher _on a certain exam last spring?"

He was flashing her that _damned smirk _of his again. Maka's steaming and still untouched plate of chicken teriyaki dwindled in comparison to the burning glares each teen held with equal vigor. The "sparks that were flying" were quickly escalating to burning embers that caught onto a raging forest fire, sweeping across the restaurant table in record time. Someone should've activated the fire alarm and set the sprinklers off to cool down their livid battle of "who-can-be-the-biggest-sarcastic-asshole-first?"

"What makes you so smart anyways? You fucking suck at band, I swear. You practically set every instrument on fire by just _touching_ it. Who can even _do _that?"

"Well, it's not my fault that the subject of music **sucks** in general! I-"

"You. Did _not_. Just say 'music sucks'."

"Well get yourself a hearing aid grandpa, I just did. At least, American music does."

"So what? You listen to J and K-pop, huh?"

"Yeah, I actually do."

"…"

"…"

"…Phfft."

"What's so funny?! Hey, stop laughing! Soul!"

"Wow Maka, talk about lame. Seriously?"

"Yes! It's not my fault your walnut-brain can't handle multicultural music."

"If you haven't noticed, _dear_," Soul made sure to purposely blanket each word with more of his savory, natural-born Italian accent, "my language skills run _just as deep _as yours."

"Wha-?" If Maka thought her nonexistent skin issues were tomato-worthy, she must've been a God-forsaken ketchup bottle by now. What kind of honorable gentlemen throws any kind of possible rebuttal out the door with an interpretive statement like that, coupled with an irresistible dialect such as Italian? Come on, ITALIAN?! Who does he think he is, making her poor, socially deprived heart do belly flops?

Was…was Soul flirting? With HER?!

Maka had to restrain herself from jumping out of the window like a deranged cat and catching a taxi in the middle of the street with the cliché directions to "step on it!" No one ever flirted with her, let alone taught her how to flirt in the first place. And nor did she want to. This situation was clearly not flirting, but…but a juvenile battle of words with excessive smirking and intense blushing episodes.

Could Maka just die already? The most available, exotic, fresh off the European exchange program, punk-hunk is putting the moves on _her?_ What kind of sick, twisted boss level was she put on? Sometimes, she wished she could just start over, or at least pause and take a look at some cheat codes.

_But let's face the reality of the situation: video game references don't help accomplish shit in real life, and-_

"Excuse me, muffin."

_…__Huh?_

"I appreciate you tryin' to take the initiative and all, but you should know that footsie shouldn't be played while wearing steel-toed boots."

Maka only now noticed that during her semi-revelation of her impending doom, her anxiety had caused her to twitch her left leg in a steady rhythm against Soul's perfectly placed shock-absorber of a shin. _Oh__** God**__. How long has that been happening?_

"About only a minute or two. Thought you might snap out of it, but since you can't even realize when you talk out loud…" His growing smirk only served to mortify the girl even further. "…I figured it should be up to a chivalrous guy like me to let you know."

Maka was left frozen in dread, yet she could swear her face was about to melt off of her skull into a bowl of Maka-pudding. She had been repeatedly footsie-ing, more like shin-ing really, Soul, and now he had just that much more material to rub her face in with! She was falling right into his trap! Not that she minded though- NO. **Bad Maka.** What happened to your straight spine? Steel jaw, iron fist, _pleated skirt_, earth to honors student?Reclaim your dignity already! You didn't get bound and dragged to a surprise double date to degrade yourself to some…some asswipe with a _stupid, half-a-point higher final exam score _than you. You came here to eat Tepanyaki and enjoy your goddamn lunch, and if some bozo in a leather jacket wants to screw with your schedule, then go ahead and screw right the fuck back.

Shaking her resolve once more, Maka gave a pretty self-content, shark jerk another kick, this time applying an excessive amount of force right in the middle of his over-abused shin, and was rewarded with a muffled yelp of surprised agony. Merely looking down and eating her chicken in a polite calm seemed to diminish any suspicion from Tsubaki's and Black*Star's gazes, whereas Soul looked like a fidgeting buffoon, and the couple brushed it off as nothing. As soon as they turned did Maka sneak a peek at Soul, only to find him staring right back at her, burning holes into her eyes as red magma met a green sea.

However, his scowl disappeared as quickly as it came, and was replaced by that infuriating grin Maka always seemed to bring out on him. Quirking an eyebrow as if saying: _what in God's name are you so smug about? _Soul reached underneath the table with his foot and lifted it in such a way that it grazed the side of her calf, causing goose bumps to rise where his well-worn leather boot met her sensitive skin.

_Byallthatisgoodandholy just __**what**__ did he do...? Did he just-? What!?_

Her thoughts were jumbled and her tongue was just as knotted. He practically felt. Her. Up. Just like that! Completely hidden from everyone else, her first petting is in **public!** Maka was ranging from ripe cherry to smoked ham on the color palate of embarrassment, and yet, those shivers sent by his cold, stiff boots would not subside. From her calf they went through her veins, up her spine, and finally resonated within her mind. So much stimulation from nothing but a _brush_, no skin contact was even made, yet she couldn't help but squeak from the foreign and strange pleasure.

She didn't bother saying all of that out loud, but it wouldn't have made a difference anyways; Soul could read her like an open book.

"Ah, so muffin likes my boots too?"

"I-I! You…and that! But we-! No?"

"Your extensive vocabulary has trumped me for the moment, so allow me to show you how to _properly_ footsie."

"H-hey! What do you think you're- GYYAAH!"

It was from there that Soul promptly reached under the table, grabbed Maka's left foot, hoisted it onto his lap, _very_ close to a relatively well-known male organ in which she wanted nothing to do with (she means it!), and proceeded to unbuckle her boot as if it was the normal occurrence on the planet.

And just what did her good friends Tsubaki and Black*Star do to aid their distressed comrade? Well, Maka wouldn't know, since her neck stiffened to the point that all she could hope to face as a means of escaping this horrible predicament was Soul's infamous poker face and smiling eyes. Goddamn jerk. Expert pianist fingers quickly and silently discarded the loosened boot, and started to rub strong, sensual circles on the underside of her foot. And good God, Maka had to bite her lip something carnal just to keep her knee from banging on the table bottom from the electricity he was causing to ricochet inside of her. Just her foot, her sock hadn't even come off, and Soul shit-eating Evans was getting Maka off for her first time.

Soul had to admit that while his first intentions were to take her murder weapons and throw them into a nearby wok for some sort of gross stir fry, he happened to notice how tiny Maka's foot was; it was a dainty little thing, much like the rest of its owner, and he suddenly forgot a huge, deadly steel-toe was once covering this delicate appendage. Out of pure curiosity (and the smell of her sweet pea lotion recently applied), Soul began to feel the contours of this strange sheep in wolf's clothing. Slow, steady circles, coupled with the occasional wisp of a gasp from Maka, allowed Soul's confidence to grow, and his right arm started an excruciatingly slow rate up her calf, copying his rouge motions from before, while his left arm slipped her sock off at a similar rate.

In all honesty, half of why he was doing this was to watch Maka silently suffer in a heavily populated area in public, her (admittedly pretty) face contorting into the funniest expressions, while the other half was to sate his own desire to see if her creamy skin would be as soft as he presumed (which it indeed was). As a plus, he got to cop a feel on her downright endless legs, and wasn't at risk of a chop, because he made sure to steal her book bag too.

On Maka's end, she honestly shouldn't be complaining. Soul, out of all the guys at Shibusen, wanted to basically molest her legs under the protection of a booth table, in _a family restaurant_, mind you, after they had met with test score related death threats involved not just thirty minutes ago. Talk about cutting to the chase. The thing was, she was struggling to make sense of why he of all people chose such a social hermit like her to rain his affections upon, while trying not to simultaneously pass out and kick him where the sun doesn't shine from his less than innocent caresses up her- **oh God he reached her thigh.**

Just as Soul realized he had both hands dangerously grazing the edge of her skirt, and Maka noticed her legs slightly spreading as his arms gently prodded them apart, did they both hear their companions laugh boisterously on some sort of inside joke, which in turn knocked them back into their "Hey, a restaurant isn't the correct place to hand-fuck each other at" senses.

Recoiling back like cats to a bubble bath, they both looked at their more or less untouched meals in an uninterested leer, and remained in strained silence for about seven minutes, until Soul remembered something very interesting, causing him to lie back in his formal relaxed posture and let a slight grin uplift his handsome Italian features.

"So tell me cupcake, where did you get those kinky "Vote for Pedro" socks from?"

"MAKA-CHOP!"

"Oi! You can't use my plate- YOWW! GODDAMIT WOMAN!"


	3. Chapter 3

**KONNICHIWA MOFOS.**

**Did you think I was seriously going to forget this story? Naaaaaah. Only one chapter left! :D LETTUS SELEBRAIT CHEELDRIN. Bring out Magic Mike~~~~~**

**Anywhore, I'm sorry this AN is seriously high. I just watched Channing Tatum's dick hump my TV screen for about two hours. I'm pretty content with life now.**

**Anyone liking the plot? The characters? The amazingly sexual and exquisitely bodied side characters? Feel free to review and tell us :3 Ludaglava, let's bask in the glory of our first multi chapter fic~**

**Enjoy~!**

* * *

He couldn't get her out of his mind.

It had been only one forced date, a previous heated academic test score battle across classrooms, and a broken plate coupled with a sore spot on his skull, and yet Maka Albarn had successfully taken his entire psyche hostage. Not that he really minded though; the spitfire of a girl left a mark on him yesterday afternoon (in the literal sense as well), and now as Soul sorts various romance novels at his part time job at a local Barnes N' Noble, he finds himself wondering if she was into these kinds of books, while fingering the crisp edge of a fairly new paperback.

He doubts it though. Such a hard-ass like Albarn would probably never set foot out of her crime stories, or sci-fi adventures, or whatever she was reading this week. Although, he couldn't help but smirk when he pictured pigtails slightly swaying, tongue stuck out by just a smidgen, jade orbs eagerly following along the novel's pages, as she always read so.

Come to think of it, Maka seemed to be cute in a lot of ways without his notice, now that he could see past her isolating, antisocial bubble she protected herself with. Like her eyes.

They were huge; like dewdrops magnifying new blades of green grass after a summer rain, or miniature planets of life orbiting his very essence, his soul, his gravitational pull. Jade palaces, fine wine glass, young apples in a spring orchard, and on a less poetic but more Soul-like note, pickle jars. Yeah, he wouldn't mention that last one to her when trying to actually initiate pleasant conversation with her, the one-hundred-thirty dollar plate, and possible concussion incident, not too far off in his memory.

But going on, those _eyes_. Just like the bound pages and printed tales she loved indulging in, he could read her clover irises like a book. Long legs and mini-skirts were totally fine with him too, don't get him wrong, but Soul was more of a substance kind of man when it came down to it all. Eyes are basically windows to the soul, and hell, did hers show.

It was pretty hilarious when she tried to hide indignant huffs of irritation and displeasure out of common courtesy, but she still let her emotions pour from her peepers like a Niagara Falls of passionate, unbridled rage. She didn't even need to so much as twitch her lip or lift an eyebrow; Soul could see plain as day what went on in her mega-nerd brain as soon as her eyes shone and lashes batted in that thoughtful way he learned to love.

Love...what the hell was that even supposed to mean? Diamond rings and four snot nosed kids crying at the dinner table, mini vans with grocery bags and waiting at the end of the isle in a stiff tuxedo, parent conferences in mini, tiny tot chairs and letting go of his roomy, bachelor pad apartment for a suburban two story with an actual _lawn_ to get out of bed for and _mow_? Oh God no. It couldn't even be. He didn't _really_ love Maka Albarn.

But, as Soul skimmed through a couple of shelves and pulled out the same book that he remembered Maka pull out of her bag after her lunch and read, he closed his eyes and gave a thoughtful quirk of his lips. He could picture holding her hand, her soft, petite little fingers lacing with his on a daily basis. He could see her in his bed, rumpled sheets and his favorite band tee looking better on her form than any of her plaid skirts ever could've hoped to, with him making coffee for the both of them, wanting to wake a little earlier just to see her like that. Their shampoos getting mixed up on the shower ledge, stupid pet names they each secretly enjoy calling each other, photo albums in a copper-like sierra capturing the days of their early love.

Love...

Yeah, he could see that happening.

"OH YEAH! So tell me what-chu want, what-chu really really want-"

Oh God. His crimson eyes dilated, then shut in sheer exhaustion, as his teeth turned into a fearsome snarl that may or may not have spooked passing customers, thus losing business and a small sum of his pay. He contemplated purchasing a mouth guard, just in case he accidentally bit his own tongue off due to excess stress and no other healthier vent.

Soul recognized those two annoyingly harmonic voices anywhere. He paused mid stride down the science-fiction isle and sighed in retribution; those two douche-monkeys, who were as loud as they were a disgrace to the entire female race, are singing. In a book store. _Again._

"Oh I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want!"

Could he possibly Maka-chop himself into a sweet, mute, self-induced coma? He weighed a good sized Stephen King in his palm, playing with the idea.

"I wanna _huh!-_"

"I wanna _huh!-_"

"I wanna _huh!-_"

"I wanna _**huh**__!-_"

_**I** wanna ziggy-zig-ziggawa the fuck out of here right about now._

Soul hurriedly walked to another section in hopes of escaping outdated 90's pop culture and grossly repetitive lyrics, stuffing the book he previously held into a compromising and uncomfortable position between those of a nearby shelf, a habit that of which his employer constantly jeered him to look after for on consumers and immediately correct. However, Soul hated the Spice Girls, oblivious loudmouths, and social networking sites, which all prior mentioned were blended together in a smoothie of epic-migraines and strawberry banana flavoring.

They just thought they were _so _chill staying at Barnes & Noble on a Sunday, 'cause after all, only hipsters and busy school students stayed _here _out of all other hangouts on the weekends. However, neither of these girls fit those descriptions in the _least. _Much too loud and uncomfortable to listen to– and were seemingly lesbian, though they could've just been really perverted straights.

"Hey Mia, is it weird if when you see a cheeto, and you notice it's inappropriately shaped, you still eat it whole?"

The other tapped on the spacebar of the warm lap top on their table in thought. "Ah, I don't think so. 'Snot like you can see any worth-while details."

It's a toss-up, he decides.

Quickly making his way to the break room, he lays his hand on the brass door handle and makes it to a half-turn when a strangely familiar soprano rings throughout the premises, and ceases all thoughts of a semi-deserved mid-afternoon doughnut and coffee break.

"**YOU GUYS.**"

~O~

Maka could practically see their laughs disintegrate in their throats and leak out as bashful chokes when she gave them her infamous stink-eye, second only to the Maka-Chop. Coming to a bookstore on a slow rising Sunday morning, someone would think the atmosphere would be particularly less aggravating and wound-up like that roll of tangled Christmas lights you loathe of every season. This sanctuary from her very hectic weekend (she didn't even want to think about yesterday's happenings, or existence for that matter) had ended up to be yet another ruse; instead of immersing herself into a fantastic world of fearsome witchery, diabolical scheming of corrupted kings, and chivalry sculpted by the sword that enforced it, Maka was rubbing her temples at Mia and Carmen's escapades of fan-girlish stupidity on Tumblr.

Her medieval endeavors would just have to wait, she decided as she snapped her book shut. Walking over to the two still staring saucers vaguely reflecting mirth into the homepage of said social networking site, Maka peered down at just what was so funny.

One GIF of Lisa Thornberry's father's obnoxious face pasted on a Disney princess' dance sequence was all it took for the laptop to have an audience of three giggling teenage girls. One might think while passing by, "Oh, what a charming trio of silly friends. What are they looking at, you think?" And your companion might answer "Porn." In which case you two would slowly exit the store and make your way to another outlet mall to peruse your expensive scented bath soaps and sappy TV drama sets in a less awkward atmosphere.

"I SAY."

"Hmm, yes. Quite so."

"Indeed good sir, right indeed, yes."

"..."

"...I SAY."

Rolls of poorly contained laughter filled the bookstore, and luckily no one (if anyone else was there that morning) started complaining. The only awkward occurrence that morning had been when an elderly woman had caught Mia making a slightly less-than-appropriate motion in her mouth with her tongue, along with her hand moving in a similar manner. Maka had immediately slapped the girl's hand down, blushing an incredible shade of crimson, while Carmen and the aforementioned pervert had burst into loud guffaws. Only after the woman had slowly walked away, did Maka finally join her friends in their spurts of laughter.

From then on, Mia and Carmen busied themselves in coming up with "endearing" pet names for the third mentioned, however Maka insisted she was a "pet" of no kind. 'Lil Pudge', 'Love Nugget', and (at the insistence of Mia) 'Grape Crepe' (because it rhymed, mostly) were the finalists; leaving Maka unhappy with any of the outcomes, or the subject to begin with.

But she couldn't help herself when she gave into another rise of laughter; it had been a shitty weekend so far. Yesterday she had practically let a stranger- a tall, lightly tanned, sharp tongued, sharp _toothed_- ahem.

Stranger nonetheless- have access to anything between her legs, which seemed to numb at his touch. Anything like that bastard's quick, sarcastic-coated wit certainly wasn't good for Maka's health; after all, she literally opened her legs for him after just playing a meager game of footsie. Correction- a meager game of him stripping her lower half of any modesty and erotically massaging her exposed, virgin skin.

Going on, she'd had her fair share of bull crap on this supposed "fun-filled" break. If Maka wanted to act like a total dork and let out a few snorts at meme's and less–than-appropriate-for-the-general-public fan fictions, she could do so; she'd certainly earned it.

What she totally and completely didn't deserve, in her opinion, was a bed-headed shark monster smirking at her from in between scattered books from a shelf in front of her, as if he knew some dirty little secret behind those razor edged canines.

Many thoughts were flitting in and out of Maka's psyche, a select few you may commonly find are:

_Wow, that shelf is dusty. I mean, __**super **__dusty. It kind of makes me mad_.

_Since when is Lord of the Rings categorized in the historical documentaries section? Can humanity sink any lower?_

_Soul Eater Evans is here. As in, **right here**, a shelf away. Staring at me, on Tumblr. WITH THESE CHOWDER-HEADS._

_**Well shit.**_

"'Scuse me, ma'am?"

_Please, please just- don't._

"Can you and the Tweedle Dumbs lower your volume? I'd like to establish one of our store's policies. It's a pretty new concept actually, so it's okay if you've never heard of it; I like to call it 'Inside Voices'."

"EH? Mia, I think I'm Christian after all; I think I just heard Jesus talking to me."

"I'm pretty sure He gave up on you a while ago, He probably was referring to me."

"What the fuck ever, Mia- Hey Maka! Where are you going?"

"M-me?! Nowhere!"

"Oh no, no, you look like you just committed murder. Spill it."

"Did you see Jesus too?"

"Dear God, I **wish**."

"Nah, I think it's referred to as 'praying'."

"What the hell did I just ask you to do?! **Shut 'yer traps.**"

A feeble "_sorry Jesus" _was whispered by said "Tweedle" sisters, meanwhile Maka found herself jumping up and heading to the ladies room as quick as her white bunny slippers could take her, internally smacking herself for putting comfort ahead of general safety. She needed to regroup, have an emergency meeting, _something_ to help her pull her head out of her ass and into reality! It's _just_ a guy from school, a mere rival, no one worth getting flustered over like some petty freshman crush. Maka was better than this, really! What was she even going to do in the large handicap stall of a restroom? Wait till his shift ended, and at what time _was_ that even at? Or worse; until Mia and Carmen raided the snack station and caused a tidal wave of popcorn-Katrina to sweep the store?

All thoughts of snack-themed natural disasters were stopped short when she was halted from her retreat by a sturdy body blocking her way out of an aisle, lanky tan arms clutching the top shelves while he idly watched her catch her breath. Soul gave her a quick up and down; big red sweater, with _Coca-Cola_ written in its traditional white cursive. Grey work out shorts, coupled with pink and white knee highs and bunny slippers. He didn't even bother to stifle his chortles.

"Dressed to impress, are we?"

She huffed indignantly, and glared to the side in a fierce, anger-induced blush. Soul momentarily forgot she was surrounded by heavy artillery, and sought a way back into her good graces.

"Relax cupcake, it's a Sunday. You think I like being in a stupid bookstore apron? Totally uncool."

Although she didn't stop glaring, her face did resemble that of a peach color again, as she turned back towards him. He leaned in slightly, and she found enough dignity left in her to respond.

"If you've been stalking me, I should warn you that I carry bear-mace in my pockets."

"Wow, that's some kinky shit you're into- hey, HEY! I'm kidding, KIDDING! Ow, woman!"

Maka continued to purse her lips in frustration, just hearing the melodic, Italian undertones in his speech making her more prone to illogical literature related violence than usual.

"Just for the safety of what's left of my brain cells, I'll have you know that I work here, unfortunately."

"What?! This place is amazing; I'd **kill** to just come here once a week! You're delusional."

"Yeah, well maybe for twiggy bookworms like you it's like that, but for the rest of the human race, being stuck with a bunch of snotty college seniors and dusty books ain't exactly the epitome of our day."

"Tch. Asshole."

"Oi, just cause you look away doesn't mean you can bail after sayin' fighting words like that."

"I can do whatever I want."

"Try looking into my eyes, at least. I want to be insulted to my face."

"Urg, FINE! Here, you happy now?!"

But when Maka whipped her pigtails across her face to please his insufferable personality, she found herself looking into an oddly warm scarlet gaze, and a smile. Not a smirk, nor leer, but an actual smile. Twice that weekend, Maka had her trusty, silver tongued vocabulary stolen right out of her breath by the same individual, who happened to enjoy following her throughout her entire break. And she couldn't find herself minding it now, she was honestly glad to have his company, for some God-forsaken reason.

Without knowing it, she found her eyes glued to her bunnies in embarrassment, still at a loss for a coherent sentence in front of a smart mouthed, strangely sweet companion. They stared back at her, black buttons gleaming in mockery; surely she could at least find enough sense to continue their conversation! Alas, Maka'd rather make small talk with the ugly carpeting than try to face Soul's now chuckling form. How did such a conceited bastard as Evans, her _academic rival since last spring,_ work his way into her heart? Was it his selective personality, much like hers? Or the way he knew when to enjoy silence and not ramble at the best of times, because she hated ramblers? Maybe even the way he passed off his gentlemanly quirks with the wave of a hand and roll of sleepy eyes. He could be really humble when he wanted to, actually.

Maka sighed for many reasons; herself, her situation, her torn pride as an independent woman, and a great majority for Soul Eater Evans.

Falling in love, (or serious infatuation, she mused) at Barnes & Noble. In her slippers and shorts she had fallen asleep in the night before.

Could she just die and reincarnate into an amoeba already?

"You could just admit you like me too, ya know."

"E-eh?! What are you..?!"

"Don't 'eh' me! You looked like you were gonna pass out from frontal lobe overheating. You think waaay too much, muffin."

"I wasn't…! You damned egotistical…pompous! I don't even like…"

"…"

"…"

"..Please tell me you didn't want that sentence to end either."

"I don't date albino stalkers with smart-aleck responses, just because of a half-point higher exam."

"It was _one_-and-a-half points, actually."

"Not to mention self-absorbed."

Soul laughed, yet another honest elation escaping his cooler-than-ice demeanor, and Maka smiled at his feet in reply, a rosy blush gradually painting her cheeks.

"I get off at two thirty."

"That's nice to know."

Soul leaned in to look into her eyes, green orbs now at full attention to the two smoldering coals in front of them.

"I appreciate your wit muffin, but now's really not the time."

"Neither is naming me after confectionary products. I hate muffins."

"Then do you like scones?"

"_She likes __**Grape Crepes**__!"_

"**MIA.**"

"_Not really sorry~!"_

Maka groaned, and felt like prison shanking her intrusive friends repeatedly for an innumerable number of reasons. Soul, however, would _not_ allow this perfect moment to slip from his fingers, 'cause cool guys finished what they fucking started, _he _would know.

"I think they might have those, too," He added with a smirk.

"Well then, that sounds just _perfect_." Maka humored, "Are you planning on whisking me away to Paris and sampling gourmet bakeries?"

"I was actually going to ask you to Starbucks after work, but as I'm starting to see this expensive taste you've acquired, I don't know…OW! Oi! What did you pinch me for, woman?!"

"I was **joking.** From the king of sarcasm, I thought you would get the hint."

"What can I say, you suck at comedy, cupcake."

"..I'll take you up on that offer, _only _because of the croissants."

"They're grape crepes."

"Oh, whatever!"

"Wait, where the fuck are you going!?"

"To go change out of my slippers! I don't want to trip across the parking lot just for some stupid crepe!"

"Sure, sure."

"…"

"Hey, Maka!"

"Yes?"

"I'm '_seriously infatuated' _with you too!"

"WHA-?!"

"MAKA! WATCH OUT-"

_Crash**! **-Boom, Boom,**Crrrrash****!**_

"…_Clean up on isle eight~"_

Maka learned two new things that day: one, she should really learn how to differentiate between her inner thoughts and actual speech. Two, Soul Evans didn't _always_ know when to keep his big, serrated mouth shut.

* * *

**CRICKEY. NOTHING WORTH READING DOWN HERE. :O**


	4. Chapter 4

**It's an epilogue kiddies. OHOHOHOHOHOHOHO SO HOW WAS MY FIRST STORY MAYN? Did you little nuggets enjoys mah words? 3**

**WEEEELP I HOPE SO. Please, Please, PLEASE REVIEW. Hows my writing style? Sense of humor? Feedback people!**

**Also, how bout you check out that oneshot hangin around my gallery too, eh? :3 **

**AND CHECK OUT MY GAWJUSS EDITOR LUDAGLAVA CAUSE SHE NEEDS LUFF.**

**XTHXBAI~**

* * *

It's actually quite amazing what can change dramatically over a period of five months. For example, a steady workout routine can develop at your local gym, or possibly you've created an account to one of those social networking sites, and your weekend nights consist of sitting in front of your monitor, your eyes a sickly red from your constant reblogging and updating.

A lot can occur over five months, really, and Maka knows this to a tee. That half-date over the parking lot turned out to prolong into an all-day loitering ticket, spent sharing life stories, strange eating habits, embarrassing childhood experiences, and oddly enough, each other's strange fixation towards the respective person while smooth jazz and contemporary sounded as a mellow background. Although it took four peppermint mochas with extra whipped cream, carefully worded teases (for the sake of his head's well-being), and a mini table flying across the premises to reign in a bunny-toed Maka into a temporary comatose, Soul finally got to properly confesses his obsession with a certain hot headed nerd-ette, which may or may not have included a snide comment about despite how her bra shopping stayed strictly in the "teen boppers" section, he would admit that he fancied small breasts anyways, since he's such a gentleman.

Another table flew shortly after that as well.

But, odd fixations toward socially pungent grouches must've been a trending fad, for after that weekend they met yet again on a Tuesday, and the next the following Wednesday, and following that it was that Wednesday's evening.

Brushing off each of their addictive "meetings" as sketchy coincidence and forgotten earphones, they continued to see each other in this obsessive frequency, and after a couple months they ended up accidentally moving in together too; his apartment's rent would go down and Maka knew how to use the stove Soul's pride insisted was broken and a danger to the complex's safety. It was a win-win situation, and neither of them seemed to look into the deeper symbolism living together entailed.

A few more weeks passed, and soon their mutual attraction blossomed into an awkward first love, finally revealed after it was Couples Night at the cinema, and the ticket boy wouldn't give them the coupon because they had not proclaimed themselves official; Maka started to fish out her money morosely from her Hello Kitty wallet, where Soul promptly grabbed the elbow of her arm, pulled it towards him roughly, and kissed her with vigor, all for the snotty employee to gape at. Following a shaky "enjoy your movie" and embarrassed shuffling through bystanders, Maka decided that they might as well get together anyways, _'at least our snacks will cost less this way'_, and Soul mutely took her hand and bought some popcorn and pointedly _one_ extra-large Coke with a single bendy-straw.

The sexual tension came before the romance, which came before the shared house, and therefore throwing all prior presumptions of a healthy relationship pattern out a five story window and onto a busy freeway. Hushed kisses were being exchanged between thick quilts during his game's halftime, and intertwining fingers in public wasn't just restricted to the spring's chilly mornings. Living under the same roof started to reveal more plus sides, and two bedrooms quickly changed into one and a guest room.

The term "dating" had long passed, and the oddity of their relationship was dubbed as a partnership of some sort; just a hair off of marriage it was, all it lacked were legal documents and general respect towards each other's person. Witty banter and sly comments breezed by each conversation, and whether they were meant to sting or not, it did not matter in the least in hindsight. Snarky people made snarky remarks, and this relationship was no exception. Hell, they were still in high school -Soul and all of his ego reminding her constantly he would be graduating next month- so how could you possibly hold maturity against them?

Maka tolerated his eccentric friends, even the creepy principal's son who kept on insisting he rearrange her tampon boxes into a square-based pyramid, just as Soul stayed up all night with her to stare at her ceiling while he combed through her hair, murmuring things about how cheaters were not cool, and she _knows_ how cool of a guy he is, while she cried into his neck, thanking him with a runny nose and snuffled laughs at the chills he got from half-dried, cooled mucus smearing on his under-chin.

However, they both could reconcile their differing life-style choices with a good game of basketball at the neighborhood court. Most of the time.

"I told you Soul, like a_ million_ times- let go of me, Damnit!"

"And let you spend another day, cooped up like a hermit? Thanks but, I don't want mushrooms to grow in the living room."

"Can you just- UGH! Why the hell do you think you can smile at me?"

"Cause your face gets scrunched when you're mad, and-"

"Soul. Don't you dare!"

"-it looks like an enraged wet kitten. Or a raisin."

"IT DOES NOT!"

"Up- see?! Raisin-kitten."

"Soul! Let go of me- hey!"

"Hey Maka."

"No."

"Hey, hey Maka."

"I'm not playing this game with you, Soul."

"The basketball match? Or this..."

"..."

"...At least you're not fighting me anymore."

"That's cause it was a sneaky move you pulled."

"..."

"...You bastard."

"'Snot my fault you want me to kiss ya."

"I didn't even ask you!"

"Don't need to, your eyes speak for you."

"And since when did I say you could put my shoes on me? Did my eyes tell you that too?"

"Yep."

"You know, that smirk can always be knocked onto the floor."

"Ooh yeah, talking dirty already- OKAY OW. Ow ow ow, _Woman_."

"Thought you liked it rough~"

"OI, the smirk is _my_ thing."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah...but it looks good on you too."

"...Flattery is going to get you nowhere."

"Is that why you're hugging me back?"

"Yes..."

"Glad to know. Now go get your jacket so I can cream your guy's team."

"Whatever, I can so- GYAHHH! SOUL EVANS, GET BACK HERE RIGHT THIS FUCKING INSTANT!"

"See ya at the court Maka!"

"I- UGH! SQUEEZING THOSE TYPES OF CHEEKS ISN'T ALLOWED, YOU KNOW THAT-! SOUL!"

"OI, Black*Star! Make a run for it! The bear's coming out of her den!"

"SOOOOUUUUL!"

But around the corner, Soul knows she's going to be adjusting her basketball cap, grumbling about pervy sharks and imaginary fungus, and Maka knows she's going to give into one of Star's idiotic bets, her pride damning her as well, and that some sort of degrading punishment will ensue, that of which Soul will negotiate Star with and give Maka a chaste kiss on each eye for. After all, none of _his_ girlfriends are going to act completely uncool under his watch.

And afterwards, while Soul is tossing a towel on his wet mop of hair after a shower, and Maka is cuddling a throw pillow while blankly staring at the TV, he will take notice of a Kay's ring commercial, and offhandedly inquires whether she preferred rubies or emeralds. Maka would unconsciously reply "both would do" and sit in content, until her words crawled back in her ear and reached her brain, and thus catapulting off of the couch in a heap of blankets and flustered flannel pajamas, while Soul ducks his tinted cheeks while making a ham sandwich, mentally checking her gem preference.

And somewhere in the distance, two tweedles with_ a lot _of dumb felt a delightful shiver run up their spines as they drew mini hearts about a phrase spelled out "S-O-M-A" in red and green sharpie. Oh yes. A new OTP would find itself on half of Death Academy's Tumblr walls, and an underground fan club held in its basement was soon to be more than a _pesky_ rumor.


End file.
